


Everything That Matters

by billys_consulting_flatmates



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of blood and violence, Pining Sherlock, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4667058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billys_consulting_flatmates/pseuds/billys_consulting_flatmates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't remember rushing forward. He didn't remember screaming John's name.<br/>But he did remember the blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything That Matters

Sherlock didn't remember falling to his knees. He didn't remember rushing forward, He didn't remember screaming John's name.

What he did remember was that the light overhead was bright and harsh, draining everything else of colour. He remembered the sharp click as the safety on the gun was switched off. He remembered the barrel of the gun aimed at his head. He remembered her voice being cold and cruel, so different to how it had sounded the night they had met, strong and warm and comforting even (all lies).

He remembered looking away from her icy eyes when the door swung open. He remembered surprise flitting across her face. He remembered two achingly familiar blue eyes sweeping over the scene before their owner, a shadow through them before Mary turned back to Sherlock.

He remembered a blur of plaid and blonde moving across the room to where Sherlock stood. He remembered a loud gunshot.

And he remembered the blood, the small grunt of pain which escaped John as he collapsed , his hands flying to where the dark red stain was already soaking into his jeans.

Sherlock doesn't remember clearly what happened next. What he does know is that one moment he was standing in shock and the next he was kneeling beside John, his hands fluttering uselessly above John's before a strong and reassuringly calm voice echoed through his mindpalace ( _"Give me your scarf - press here - hard")._

He quickly reached up to his throat and tore his scarf free before yanking John's hands away from the wound so he could press the scarf down hard. It was only then that he realised he was trembling as shaky, broken words fell from his lips.

"John... John... stay with me... it's going to be okay... you're okay... please John..." he gasped as his throat seemed to close up with fear and he tasted salt on his lips. His vision was going blurry but he could still see that John's eyes were open and fixed on Sherlock's face, his bloody hands covering Sherlock's as they pushed down.

"Sherlock," he whispered, his voice ragged with pain and Sherlock choked back a sob as if John's voice had caused something to snap within him as he leaned forward to press his forehead against John's good shoulder. The warmth of John's skin leaked through his jumper and helped Sherlock breathe a little easier.

"John... you can't leave me..." he cried, John's jumper muffling his voice a little but John still seemed to hear him as he squeezed Sherlock's hands a tightly as he could, his grip slipping slightly due to the blood still leaking out despite their best efforts.

"Stay with me... John... you can't... you... I... I love you... stay with me, I love you, I love you, I love you," Sherlock repeated over and over into the soft wool beneath his lips as if this mantra of his deepest secret would stop the blood from pouring out of John.

John stiffened beneath Sherlock, a rush of warm air ruffling Sherlock's curls but John didn't say anything in response. Instead he withdrew his hands from Sherlock's and shifted underneath him, his elbow jabbing Sherlock's side as if to push him away and Sherlock felt something twist painfully in his chest at this blatant rejection.

A sudden gunshot rang out from behind Sherlock's head and he flinched before pulling away and with wide, wet eyes, he glanced around behind him.

Mary lay dead on the floor, her eyes no longer cold but glassy and empty, her gun still in her hand, a bleeding bullet hole in her forehead.

Sherlock whipped back around to stare at John who was clutching his gun in his left hand, panting through pain and possibly shock. Sherlock jumped when he felt John's free hand return to squeeze his own which was still holding down the scarf.

"Call... ambulance..." John managed to get out as he attempted to breathe through the pain. Sherlock nodded and pressed John's hand down hard to ensure the scarf stayed in place before he pulled away completely.

He reached for his phone and cursed when it slipped due to the blood coating his fingers. He quickly wiped his hands on the front of his coat before dialing and snapping instructions at the woman who answered. His gaze never left John's eyes as he listened to her repeat the address before hanging up.

"John..." he whispered as he replaced his hands, now covering Johns. the gun lay in John's other hand for another moment before he let it slip to the floor as he lifted his hand up to Sherlock's head, his fingers hesitating for a moment as he stared at Sherlock before they slipped into Sherlock' curls. Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared down at John whose eyes, though shadowed with pain, were now fixed upon the sight of his hand in Sherlock's hair.

"Sherlock," he mumbled and Sherlock swallowed harshly before blinking when he felt John's hand twitch beneath his own and he quickly redoubled the pressure.

"Hold on John," he murmured. "Please, please, please hold on..."

He whispered please into the almost silent room, the only other noise being John's harsh breathing. He's eyes never left John's pale face as he mumbled and John's tightening grip on his curls was the only warning Sherlock had to the arrival of the medics.

He was pulled away from John despite his reluctance and hovered as they surrounded John. He followed them out of the building opposite 221 Baker Street and out to the ambulance which he climbed into after John. he sat and watched as the medics continued to work on John, as John finally gave into the urge to fall into unconsciousness, his blue eyes vanishing from sight beneath their lids. As they drove through the familiar streets they had spent so many hours running along, Sherlock allowed one last broken plea to fall from his lips, his eyes never leaving John.

"Please... God... let him live."

\--

The hospital room was silent aside from the whirring of the machines beside the bed. John's quiet breathing and the steady beeps proving John's heat was still beating.

Sherlock was hunched over in the uncomfortable hospital chair provided with the room, one hand resting on top of John's wrist, two fingers pressing down, reassuring himself that the machines were not lying to him.

His eyes followed the lines of John's relaxed face, his gaze lingering on his partially parted lips, as his panic over John's condition slowly eased. Unfortunately this allowed other fears to raise their snarling heads.

Why had he told him? He never should have said anything. But he hadn't been able to face the thought of letting John go (his mind studiously avoided the word 'die') without having told him. Not this time. Not now.

And now John knew. This could shatter everything they had managed to recover and rebuild since his return from the dead. They still hadn't managed to fix everything and now he had torn it all to shreds once more.

Sherlock groaned as he let his eyes shut and his head sink forward until his forehead rested against the edge of the mattress, his grip on John tightening.

Maybe John hadn't heard him. Maybe his attention had been too focused on the pain and stopping the bleeding and the advancing and still armed Mary. Maybe he had been too distracted to pay any attention to the ramblings of a crying sociopath.

Sherlock had thought, maybe, at first, that John had heard him and what he had thought had been rejection had  _hurt_. As painful as a bullet, the thought of losing John completely had terrified him. But hopefully John had been too busy reaching for his gun to notice. Hopefully he had not ruined everything that mattered.

But... John had run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Had whispered his name as of Sherlock was the only thing keeping John conscious.

Maybe he wouldn't reject Sherlock? Maybe John's old feelings for Sherlock, from before the fall, before  _her_ (he had been so blind) would return.

Maybe they could build something new?

Sherlock tried to force these thoughts out of his head but they refused to budge. His mindpalace, once a sanctuary, turned against him as every inch of it reminded him of John. Every room, every hallway, every wall, every empty space, screamed John at him.

John. John. John. John.

\--

It was 4:09am when John's arm twitched beneath Sherlock's fingers.

Despite visiting hours having ended long ago no one had even tried to have Sherlock removed. He suspected Mycroft was behind this but he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed at his interference. Not if it meant he could stay with John. They had been left alone except for when a nurse ducked in every hour or so to check on John.

Sherlock's head shot up when John twitched once more, his eyes easily finding John's face in the gloom of the dimly lit room.

John's eyelids slowly flickered open and he blinked blearily for a moment before his arm tensed beneath Sherlock's hand, his gaze shifting as he tried to figure out who else was there.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock said quietly, shifting so he could reach the button to alert the nurse and John relaxed upon hearing Sherlock's voice.

"Sherlock," he whispered and Sherlock squeezed John's arm gently, ignoring the way his chest tightened when John said his name.

The door quietly opened and the nurse crept in and, upon seeing John stirring, she hurried forward. Sherlock sat back and took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before he turned back to John. the nurse was finishing up and John's eyes were starting to close once more.

"He should sleep for a little longer," she told Sherlock before leaving the room as silently as she had entered.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly and Sherlock instinctively reached forward and replaced his hand on John's wrist.

"I'm here. Go to sleep."

"Sherlock... I..." John mumbled but he fell asleep before he could finish. Sherlock squeezed his arm before settling back into his chair, leaving his hand where it was.

\--

He thought to text Mrs Hudson and Lestrade that John was okay and had woken up only when the nurse had bustled back in at 7:30 as john woke once more.

He hesitated outside the door before re-entering John's room and made his way back to the chair he had claimed as his own.

John glanced at him before returning his attention back to what the doctor was telling him. Sherlock pretended to ignore both of them as he fiddled with his phone, ignoring Lestrade's latest text.

He only looked back up when he realised, with a flash of panic shooting up his spine, that the doctor and nurse had left. John was watching him with a slight frown.

"You okay?" he asked and Sherlock barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Do I need to remind you that  _you_ are, in fact, the one in the hospital bed?" he replied sharply and John raised an eyebrow.

"No, I managed to deduce that myself funnily enough."

Sherlock lowered his eyes back down to his phone to avoid John's eyes and tensed when he began talking, his voice soft in a way Sherlock had heard only once or twice beforehand.

"Sherlock. About happened - what you -"

"Hoo-hoo!"

Never before had Sherlock been so grateful for Mrs Hudson's tendency to interrupt. John immediately fell silent as soon as she entered the room and Sherlock relaxed.

"Oh, John dear. I couldn't believe it when Mr Holmes told me what happened. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Mrs Hudson," John said, his voice a touch too sharp to be reassuring which he seemed to realise because he continued in a gentler tone. "A bit of blood loss but I'll be fine soon."

Sherlock didn't bother waiting to hear Mrs Hudson's reply before he leapt to his feet and left the room, closing the door behind him with a snap.

He hurried down the hospital hallways and didn't slow down until the exit came into sight. he stepped out into the brisk October air and reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette and lighter. he cursed when he came up empty-handed and almost immediately bit off another curse when a cigarette was held out in front of his eyes.

He turned to glance at his brother before he snatched the cigarette away before the offer could be retracted.

"It would be probably be advisable for you to go home and change," Mycroft said as he offered as lighter as well. Sherlock glanced down at himself and was mildly surprised that he still wore his bloodstained coat. His stomach churned at the sight of it, knowing it was Johns' and he quickly took a deep drag.

"I have a security detail assigned to the good doctor's room," he continued. "All allegations and charges have been dealt with. Neither of you were there when Mary Morstan died."

Sherlock didn't respond or look at his brother but instead he stared out towards the bustling road before a look of distaste flashed across his face.

"Low tar?" he asked derisively and he flicked the offending butt away before stalking towards the road to search for a cab.

"He's alive, is he not?" was Mycroft's response and Sherlock gritted his teeth. Yes, John was alive but that didn't stop his veins from freezing with fear or his mind from screaming at him.

\--

Night had fallen long before Sherlock returned to the hospital.

He slipped through the corridors without being questioned and ignored Mycroft's man outside of John's door. He crept into John's room and back to his chair.

John was asleep, as Sherlock had hoped he would be. A book, clearly brought by Mrs Hudson, lay on the table beside the bed. Lestrade and Molly had been in, a hint of the man's cigarette brand hung in the room along with Molly's bright, flowery perfume.

He turned his eyes back to the sleeping man and watched his peaceful face for a moment before he reached forward and placed his hand on John's wrist, his fingers searching for reassurance. He allowed himself to close his eyes and rest his forehead against the mattress again. His grip on John's wrist lessened and he slowly trailed his fingers down and slipped them into John's hand. His skin warmed at the contact and his heart stuttered within his chest before he released and long breath heavily.

He squeezed his hand gently before sighing again before he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

When he woke up it was to a gentle pressure wrapped around his fingers and for a moment Sherlock relaxed and squeezed back. he knew this hand. The callouses from wielding a gun, the small scar on the thumb from a sharp fence during a mad rush after a criminal. Strong and warm, they held onto his longer fingers and he was content to just lay there, his blood singing, and hold John's hand.

John's hand.

Sherlock jerked upright, every muscle in his body tense and quivering as he met John's very much open eyes. He tried to wrench his hand free but John tightened his grip and refused to let go.

"Sherlock," he began and panic overtook Sherlock as he tugged futilely, John's grip merely tightening. "Sherlock, wait -"

The door swung open and they both turned to see the doctor pause in the doorway.

"Is something the matter?" he asked with a frown and Sherlock took the opportunity to pull his fingers free whilst John was distracted before leaping from his chair and rushing across the room and past the doctor.

"Sherlock!" he heard John call out, frustration saturating his voice but Sherlock didn't slow down, his heart pounding in his chest and his fingers tingling from the warmth of John's hand.

\--

The closing of the door alerted Sherlock to Mrs Hudson's return and he sighed in irritation when he heard her footsteps upon the staircase. he closed his eyes when the door to the kitchen swung open and a plastic bag was set down on the table with a rustle.

"Sherlock? Oh, there you are dear. You know, you really should get back to John. He's worried about you."

Sherlock remained silent, his stomach tying itself into knots, his sweaty hands stuffed between his chest and the back of the couch. He couldn't. He couldn't bear to see the pity in John's eyes as he awkwardly but gently told Sherlock that no, all previous interest had long ago vanished. Knowing John he would insist that it would all be fine and they'd go on living together,

But gone would be the casual intimacy of before, the life they had been rebuilding together. They would no longer pull a single blanket over them both while watching crap telly or one of John's movies. John would stop touching him, would tense up whenever Sherlock got too close, would never wear anything too revealing around the flat.

He would go out and flirt with others and Sherlock would wait in the flat for him to come back. They would continue to work on cases together but with  _this_ standing between them. John would compliment him less and less, he wouldn't follow Sherlock everywhere, wouldn't spend all of his free time with Sherlock.

He squeezed his eyes tight against the sudden burning and attempted to breathe deeply and slowly to calm his racing heart. It made no difference. His body was almost trembling with fear of this new future and he jumped when Mrs Hudson spoke again, her presence having been forgotten in the rush of his tormenting thoughts.

"Just go back and talk to him," she implored him. "He needs you there with him. Not hiding here."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he leapt up off the couch and stalked over to the door, ignoring Mrs Hudson's surprise. He wrenched his coat off the hook, bloodstains now removed but not forgotten, and his scarf, a fresh one, his other one buried deep in the bins downstairs, and threw them on before he stormed down the stairs.

He needed to get out. Needed to be distracted. Needed to be away from the flat where everything screamed John; his armchair, his Bond movies by the telly, his mug, his desk, his laptop.

John. John. John. John. Johnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohn...

\--

New Scotland Yard was bustling with activity as always when Sherlock swept in. He ignored the looks being sent his way and hurried on to Lestrade's office.

Donovan looked up from her desk at the sound of his approach and he braced himself for a scathing remark, quickly scrambling for his already torn shields. Instead, she only watched him, a small frown creasing between her eyes and Sherlock almost slowed down when he realised she was looking at him sympathetically.

Unsure of what to do with this information, Sherlock proceeded on to where Lestrade's office door stood shut and. without knocking, he swung it open and strode in, his body and mind restless, desperate for a case, a distraction.

"What is - Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice grew concerned once he's looked up from the file he had been reading. "Has something happened? Is John alright?"

"Anything new in?" he demanded, ignoring Lestrade's questions, questions he couldn't face as they all brought him back to the one topic he was trying to run from.

"Anything - what?" Lestrade was frowning at Sherlock, confusion mingling with concern.

"Any new cases? Now? And nothing boring," Sherlock snapped out as he clenched his hands to stop their trembling. Silence filled the office as Lestrade stared at him, his expression slowly going blank and Sherlock shifted restlessly before the desk, the empty space beside him as much of a reminder as any words could be.

"Sherlock," Lestrade finally said, his voice almost unbearably gentle causing Sherlock to tense all over. "Go back to John, now. You need to talk to him-"

"I don't need to talk to him," Sherlock snapped as his chest tightened at the mention of John, his name echoing through Sherlock's mind. "I need a case."

"No," Lestrade said firmly. "Go back to the hospital and sort out whatever' going on -"

"Nothing is 'going on'," Sherlock spat out, frustration bubbling in his veins. "Give me a case - anything -"

"There is something going on," Lestrade said, his voice a tough louder than normal. "You've been avoiding John, he asks after you but won't talk about you and now you come in here looking as if you haven't slept in a week and refusing to discuss him. I'm not giving you a case. Go to John. Now."

Sherlock stared at the D.I., anger and surprise stealing his words from him. Lestrade refused to back down and merely raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Sherlock barely held back a snarl as he whipped around and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him causing several heads to turn though they all looked away hurriedly when they saw him except for one.

Donovan met his angry gaze silently, that same considering frown marring her otherwise clear expression, before he swept out.

\--

London had once more been blanketed in darkness when Sherlock snuck back into John's hospital room. John was once again asleep and Sherlock sunk into his chair, his gaze fixed upon the sleeping man, his hands automatically reaching for his pulse, just to be sure.

The relief that flooded his system as he felt the strong heartbeat beneath his fingers faded quickly as the now familiar panic filled him instead.

He couldn't fall asleep tonight. He had taken too much of a risk the previous night, one he couldn't take again. If John were to catch him again Sherlock didn't think he had the strength to fight back.

No. He would stay awake and slip away before John stirred. He didn't need to know Sherlock had been here at all.

Sherlock stared at John's relaxed face, and a frown creased Sherlock's own features as his eyes traced the familiar view. John's thin lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and steady. His honey blonde eyelashes grazed his cheeks, his eyelids hiding those blue eyes which never failed to affect Sherlock. His dirty blonde hair was tousled and Sherlock's fingers twitched with the desire to run through the usually neat locks. John's military habits had never completely left him and it showed in how neat he kept his appearance, his bedroom always tidy and the god awful hour he  _always_ rose at.

Sherlock leaned forward slightly in his seat, his fingers lightly tracing the inside of John's wrist, his eyes remaining fixed upon John's face until the sun began to rise, several hours later.

With the sky outside lightening to a dull gray, Sherlock let go of John regretfully and slipped out of the room.

He hesitated in the hallway outside to consider his options. He couldn't stay here, not with John soon to be awake. He'd been banned from Scotland Yard and Baker Street only reminded him of John. Roaming the streets of London had not helped either, as he had discovered yesterday, as he was all too aware of the empty space beside him.

In the end he never left the hospital.

Instead, he slunk down to the lower  floor of the building until he reached the lab that, despite the many John memories in here, always had allowed him some form of distraction.

Molly wasn't in yet so he remained undisturbed as he fiddled with the microscope, several fingernails he had managed to acquire and various poisons. When she did arrive she paused in the doorway for only a moment before she went about her business without saying a word.

They continued like this all morning, neither speaking, much to Sherlock's relief, until Molly's lunch break when she turned to face him.

"I'm heading upstairs," she announced and Sherlock blinked as he looked up at her. "Are you coming? I'm sure John must be getting bored by now. he could do with some company."

Sherlock froze at the mention of John and only stared at her for a moment, watching as her smile became strained before he turned back to his work without a word.

Heavy silence lay over the lab for a moment before hurried footsteps echoed and then Molly yanked open the door and let it swing shut behind her, leaving Sherlock alone.

\--

Night fell slowly and Sherlock's eyes strayed to check the time far more often then he would have liked. The knowledge that John was only a few floors above him made the passing of time seem even slower. He missed John badly and he struggled to stop himself from sprinting upstairs to see him. He hadn't spoken to John properly since before the shooting four days ago. It felt like much longer.

Molly had returned from her trip upstairs in silence and didn't speak until five when she said goodbye. Sherlock barely acknowledged her, his mind lost several floors above.

That had been four hours ago and he was growing restless again. Would John be asleep yet? Did he know Sherlock came to him in the night? Or did he think he had been abandoned? The thought caused Sherlock's chest to tighten but he couldn't face John yet. He desperately wished he could but the fear was paralysing.

An hour and a half later he let himself creep upstairs, ignore Mycroft's man and slip silently into John's room. He was asleep, his breathing slow, his face relaxed and Sherlock allowed himself to sink into his chair, his eyes hungrily roving over John's features, his fingers finding their customary position over John's pulse.

He held his breath, allowing John's heartbeat to steal his attention before he released his breath shakily. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against the mattress and closed his eyes.

He remained in that position for a few moments as he tried to hold his fears back with John's pulse beating against his fingertips. The room was silent apart from their breathing and Sherlock slowly relaxed.

A light pressure against his scalp startled him and he froze as he recognised the feeling of John's fingers in his hair.

"Sherlock. Please."

The quiet plea caused Sherlock to screw his eyes shut tight and breathe deeply before he sat up. He tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest as John's fingers slipped from his hair.

"Sherlock."

He slowly opened his eyes and lifted them to meet John's gaze, his heart beating furiously against his rib cage. John's eyes were clear, his sleep clearly faked and Sherlock cursed himself for having fallen for it.

The room remained silent for a couple of minutes as they stared at each other, Sherlock almost fidgeting with nerves whilst John appeared to be calmer. A small crease appeared between his eyes as he watched Sherlock and he released a breath, air blowing harshly out from between his gritted teeth.He closed his eyes and clenched his left hand while Sherlock continued to stare and struggled to remind himself to breathe as if John's gaze had sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

"I'm -" John's voice was strained and he grimaced, eyes still squeezed shut as he fumbled for words. "You know - you know I'm not good... at - at these kind of things."

Sherlock's heartbeat was frantic now as fear flooded his body, flowing like icy water through his veins. His hands grew sweaty and trembled while his body tensed, braced for the verbal blow. John could only be talking about one thing...

He opened his mouth to cut John off, to apologise, to beg for him to stay, please, please, please don't leave.

"I know."

He almost didn't recognise the rasping, breathless voice as his own and he blinked in surprise.

"So... I'm just going to say it," John said firmly and Sherlock felt his eyes widen as John's snapped open, his breath caught in his throat and he could only stare hopelessly at John as he prepared for the rejection. Everything that he cared about was about to end and he could do nothing to stop it. Only stare as John took a deep breath before opening his mouth.

"I love you, too."

Sherlock froze. He stared at John, barely managing to breathe, his brain slowly trying to process John's words. he must have misheard. This couldn't be right. A dream? John couldn't have said  _that_.

John was watching him, his blue eyes calm and fixed upon Sherlock's face, waiting for him to react, to say something. Sherlock stared at him for another moment before he spoke in a shaky, uncertain voice.

"You  _what_?"

John smiled gently at Sherlock who could only stare at the other man. Why was John smiling? Did this mean he hadn't misheard? Had John truly said-

"I love you, too," John repeated and Sherlock collapsed back into his chair. He suddenly became aware of his racing heart and something warm bubbling up in his chest. Overwhelmed he dumbly repeated John.

"Too?"

John's smile widened slightly so Sherlock could see a hint of his teeth and he was hit with the desire to kiss John, to feel his lips against his own, to taste him and run his tongue over those teeth,

"I heard you," John explained and Sherlock nodded slightly as his earlier suspicions were proven correct though with a different resolution to what he had predicted. John's eyes were soft and affectionate and Sherlock felt a touch too warm under that gaze, that warm feeling tightening his chest. he held his breath as John raised his left hand and slowly reached up to Sherlock's hair,and his fingers once again slipped amongst the black curls and Sherlock almost melted under his touch.

"You heard me," he repeated, too focused on John's touch to pay attention to what he was saying. he closed his eyes and gave in, leaning into John's touch eagerly and he almost groaned when John's short nails scratched lightly against Sherlock's scalp.

"I've loved you for so long," John murmured, his quiet voice luring Sherlock into leaning closer. He slowly opened his eyes to stare at John who had moved as close to the side of the bed as he could. Sherlock swallowed and forced himself to speak,

"I have too," he said softly and John's answering smile caused Sherlocks' chest to tighten slightly and he leaned in even more until their faces were inches apart and Sherlock could feel John's breath on his face.

John huffed an almost silent laugh which sent shivers down Sherlock's spine when he felt it against his lips as John spoke again his voice still quiet as though neither of them were willing to speak loudly.

"We're a pair of idiots, aren't we?"

Sherlock couldn't answer. He was all too aware of the decreasing amount of space between them as he leaned down, every cell in his body demanding, aching to be closer to John. His entire body screaming for John, John, John, John...

"John," Sherlock whispered, their faces so close Sherlock could almost fell John's lips on his own, a tantalizing brush of combined breath. His entire frame was trembling and his breath hitched when John's grip on his hair tightened.

And then John was leaning forward and Sherlock's heart barely had time to stutter in his chest before he felt John's warm, soft lips brush lightly against his own. it was barely a kiss. Neither had closed their eyes, as though they were scared this could all vanish if they looked away.

"John."

Sherlock's murmur broke them out their trance and John leaned up again as Sherlock's eyes slid shut and their lips pressed together firmly. Sherlock's body was singing as John tugged him closer and lips moved against one another.

"I love you."

John's voice washed over Sherlock and before he could even think, Sherlock had reached out and clutched at John's hospital issued shirt with one hand, the other sliding upwards to cup John's cheek.

"I love you."

Sherlock moved back down, their noses brushing before Sherlock tilted his head and their words were lost amongst their breaths, their lips, their mouths.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

\--

The sun was setting, casting it's bloody rays and shadows across the bustling streets of London when the cab pulled up outside of 221 Baker Street. Sherlock leapt out after handing the cabbie the fare before hurrying around to John side to help him out of the cab and across the pavement to the door,

John leant heavily on the hospital issued walking stick which eyes with disdain as Sherlock unlocked the door to let them in. The door had barely swung shut behind them when Mrs Hudson bustled into the hallway, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Oh, John. It's good to see you out of the hospital and back home," she exclaimed and John smiled at her.

"It's good to be back," he said before glancing at Sherlock and then at the staircase. "A bit tired now though."

"Oh, of course," Mrs Hudson said as she walked with them along the hallway to the base of the staircase where she stopped. "You go and have a good rest and I'll pop up with your favourite in the morning. Night boys," she said and John nodded gratefully at her as Sherlock stepped forward to help him up the stairs.

It was slow going and, with a quick glance at the staircase up to his room, John turned towards the sitting room. Sherlock didn't argue and hovered as John sank into his chair with a little sigh. Sherlock drank in the sight of John home, back where he belonged. He fought not to fidget or blush when John caught him staring and smiled.

To distract himself from that smile and in an attempt to avoid further embarrassment, Sherlock turned towards the kitchen and deposited John's pain medication on the table before filling the kettle.

The silence which filled the flat calmed Sherlock, familiar and welcome, just like it had once been but now with a new layer to it. He reveled in it as he pulled two mugs down from their shelf and grabbed two tea bags.

"She was going to shoot you, you know."

John's voice brought Sherlock back and he started when John's words registered in his mind. He turned around sharply and stared at the back of John's head. "That's why I killed her."

"John."

Sherlock abandoned the tea and hurried back to John who glanced up at him when Sherlock came into view. He looked away but Sherlock knelt down in front of him, drawing his gaze back to him.

"John," Sherlock repeated quietly, unsure as to what he was feeling exactly, a curious mix of warmth and sadness.

"It's not as if I haven't done it before," John said wryly as he watched Sherlock's face. A small, humourless smile twisted his lips slightly.

"It's different this time," Sherlock said softly as he slowly lifted a hand and hesitated, his fingers hovering above John's knee. John watched him quietly and relaxed when Sherlock gently laid his hand down on his knee.

"Not that different," he replied, reaching out with his own hand and he smiled when his fingers slipped into Sherlock's hair, He combed through the soft curls slowly, allowing his nails to lightly scrape against Sherlock's scalp.

Sherlock didn't hesitate as he leant up and caught John's lips with his own. John eagerly pressed back and Sherlock's heart leapt as he was almost overwhelmed by that warmth which filled his chest as John parted his legs to pull Sherlock closer.

He pulled away regretfully for air but was unwilling to retreat too far away from John and instead rested his forehead against John's.

"I love you," he whispered the words against John's lips and his heart stumbled when he  _felt_ John smile.

"I love you, too," he said before moving forward enough to kiss Sherlock again and again and again.

Eventually Sherlock had to pull away, his lungs desperate for air, a little lightheaded and his lips tingling. He brushed his lips lightly against John's jaw and felt John turn to brush barely-there kisses to Sherlock's cheek before Sherlock leant down and buried his face in John's neck.

John's arms reached around Sherlock, pulling him in close against his chest and Sherlock cuddled in closer, desperate to get closer to John, to sink into his skin and settle there, never to be parted.

"Come to bed," he murmured against John's skin, his eyes still closed and he felt John's chest shake with a small laugh against his body.

"As much as I would like to, I'm still a bit tender," John said, his smile evident in his voice and Sherlock felt his face burn as he pulled back to send a half-hearted glare at John.

"I didn't mean it like that," he protested with a huff. "Just to sleep."

John's answering smile washed away what little ire Sherlock had and caused Sherlock's chest to tighten and he couldn't stop himself from leaning in closer once more, his hands clutching at John's shirt.

"Sounds like a good idea," John murmured, his breath brushing over Sherlock's upturned face. "C'mon then."

Sherlock pulled back enough to climb to his feet and to help John up. once standing John reached up for Sherlock and pulled him down, one hand in his hair, the other on the side of his face so he could gently press their lips together once more, Sherlock's body trembling as he did so, clutching John to him.

John pulled back enough to meet Sherlock's slightly dazed gaze with a smile a they continued to hold onto one another. 

"Bed."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
